There are so many things I love about living in Manhattan: grocery delivery, all night diners, cabs on every corner. Things that make life so much more convenient that at times you begin to wonder how you ever lived without them. However, there is one small thing that isn’t always such a cinch. That dreaded thing happens to be laundry. Granted, no one enjoys doing laundry, but in New York, if you aren’t fortunate enough to have an in apartment washer and dryer, you are left with one of two choices. Send your laundry out and allow a stranger to manhandle your unmentionables (not to mention allowing said stranger to discern what does and does not belong in the dryer) or do your laundry yourself. The latter would require you to sit and sweat while your socks hit the spin cycle. It’s not like you could leave your beloved laundry in fear of someone stealing it… or dumping it out to access the dryer for themselves. So, this past weekend, I chose the somewhat lesser of two evils (I needed my underwear STAT and Little J’s couldn’t launder me til Monday). Making the best of things and not having anything left to wear, I played a little game of dress up and sported my very last pair of striped socks with a floral frock and floral sandals. Hey, you never know what kind of cutie might be sudsing up his stuff in the next machine…